


And After A Time The Elf-Kings

by archiving (Zimraphel)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Do Elves Fart? and other important questions, Humor, Nargothrond, Other, VERY impressive feats of diplomacy, and really bad poetry involving star imagery, blaming the noldor for everything, but mostly feudalism, featuring the violent cult of Finrod Felagund in the 4th age, or an attempt at it, very tired sindarin subjects
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimraphel/pseuds/archiving
Summary: A story for those of you who have always wondered how a people known to argue about things like TH vs. S pronounciation came to be known for gems like “Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both yes and no."Basically, this is a saga about officious Noldorin lords, their meddling in human affairs and the unexpected results of that enlightened decision...-[begun in 2011, now hopefully finally to be completed].
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. prelude

In the year __, certain lords of the Noldor, feeling great pity for their newfound humans, decided it was not, in fact, a good thing to as they put it "dwell together without order". Now this was somewhat ironic as the great lords themselves had fled Valinor to escape any sort of order placed on them by others; but they were Noldorin and the Noldor in general just loved to order things, just as long as it were them doing the ordering.

  
The Atani, or secondborn, or aftercomers, or sickly, etc. - these were all names given in _perfectly_ respectful friendship, of course - seemed to thrive on disorder, the poor things. The lords attributed this to their short lifespan, and possible frailty of the mind: there seemed to be no rational explanation for it. To make matters worse, they seemed to have a bad influence on their own increasingly disorderly retinue. Marriages were sealed with direct intercourse! Court ceremonies occasionally disrupted by sneezing Atani! Wild dancing parties that lasted until late into the night without involving any ceremony at all! Gratuitous butchering of the beautiful language of Quenya! But worst of all, they seemed to have no leaders.

The Atani had been friendly with the Moriquendi before they ever met the Noldor, and this unfortunate influence was still quite obvious to the great lords. They had respect for them, the Caliquendi, because they were tall, emitted light and seemed to them near divine. This seemed among the Atani to be enough reason to obey a person, most of the time. They did not, however, always distinguish between one Noldo or another. This led to servants with much inflated egos and lords of great importance treated with less importance than they very well deserved.

It had also come to their attention that their leaders - if one could call them such - changed even more frequently than they ended up dying ( which was often enough already). At first they suspected a power struggle of sorts. But after a while it became clear that though there was a power struggle, it seemed oddly friendly and involved no brothers pointing swords at each others throats as far as they could see. The Atani, it seemed, _willingly_ relinquished their positions of power. This to the lords was very unnatural: as far as they were concerned, one only relinquished a position of power when killed, and expected someone to at least keep a seat warm in case one was reborn. Not only did the Atani die _all_ over the place in the most random of fashions, their entire society seemed equally unstructured. All this was greatly upsetting, and it came as a surprise to no one, safe probably the Atani themselves, when the lords released their official Statement For The Good Of Everyone, which contained much flowery language on vassalage and diplomatically condescending ideas on many other things but in the end came down to:

_We are going to help you because obviously you are a mess and cannot do anything well by yourselves. And if your people would please remove themselves from our direct presence, you are encouraging the disrespectful streak in our Sindarin and silvan subjects. Thank you most cordially,_

  
_A Concerned Group of Elven Kings, advisors and Lords_

-

The Sindarin messenger squirmed most uncomfortably at being told to deliver this particularly respectful piece of politics, but relied on the thought that his mortal friends would, at least, probably recognise him as neither Noldo nor Lord, and redirect their inevitable resulting hostility. He packed some extra miruvor just in case though, and hoped for the best.

-

  
It surprised probably no one, except possibly all Sindarin and silvan subjects, when the messenger returned not only unscathed but also covered in flower wreaths and smelling quite strongly of the Atani's most excellent wine. The latter was not quite that much a surprise as he was, after all, Sindarin, but the flower wreaths were definitely an unsuspected addition. The fragmented story that reached the ears of the very pleased Lords of the Noldor between hiccups smelled not only of wine but also of a most pleasant combination hero worship and idealisation. To this odd variant of mortal attraction to people prettier than they we owe an infinitude of things: early Númenórean preference for Elvish dress styles; the success achieved in Gondor by reinstalling a King after generations of semi-democracy; the conviction that everything sounds better in Quenya; the resulting extinction of several original human languages; a distrust for the Avarin culture; the inclusion of the word "star" in just about everything as often as possible by any respectable person; the long-held belief that pale, luminous skin and light, possibly light-emitting eyes are indicators of a good character; the resulting genocide of the Drúedain and various other peoples who did not meet these particular conditions; several bad imitations of elvish musical composition that nevertheless became immensely popular; the existence of a betrothal period: the gracefulness of certain ladies; the conviction that this is their natural state that keeps them so; the mythological statue of Finrod Felagund, the general mystique surrounding his person, chiefly connecting him to various Sun deities; the resulting violent cult of Finrod-The-Saviour in the Fourth Age; its much later pacification and absorption into Apollonian worship and the fact that Apollo has a harp at all. And yet another thing: the evil and magnificent structures of much of early human society including, but not limited to: feudal lords, official beheadings, inflated egos, hereditary leadership, thralls, extremely poor people and professional knights.

The few Noldor who remained in later ages saw the various disastrous results of their well-intended teachings and for the remainder of their time in Endórë replied to any question by mortals ever with _“Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both yes and no"_ with the very straightest face they could manage and hoped the collective memory of the Atani was just as pathetically short as they had always told them it to be.


	2. The Fragrance of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod takes his Pet Human Bëor (formerly known as Balan) home for the first time, and causes an unintended uproar.

It had all started relatively innocently. As innocent things go, this was of course not to last. The entire palace was soon in an uproar - from the prince's third cousins twice removed to the kitchen staff.

  
  
The day had started relatively peacefully. As peaceful, that is, as things can ever be in a Noldorin household great or small. Yes, there was some intense debate that would perhaps have been called "fighting" by some of its more sensitive Sindarin inhabitants. A maiden who according to the official annals spent most of her time weaving or embroidering was in fact down at the stables, stealing one of the larger stallions for a joyride. And the way the stronghold's cook lovingly coaxed the chickens into the soup by singing them beautiful Quenya lullabies usually used for children could, in fact, be described as somewhat alarming. The elvish way with all good beasts indeed. 

The cause of the current uproar, however, was brought inside the walls and in fact also quite near the central hearth by one Finrod Felagund, who was usually not known as a troublemaker. A bit of an eccentric, sure, but mostly harmless. Or so the Noldorin population had thought up till this point. This time, however, he had brought what _he_ called "one of the secondborn" and the majority of the people present called "one of those sickly weak things who slightly resemble one of our own." This alone would have been enough for some uproar, as the wrinkled creature was quite a novelty. Though the Sindar muttered and sputtered and attempted to blend in with their surroundings whenever it looked their way, many of the Noldor openly gawked. The surgeons and chroniclers most of all, but many of the maidens as well. It could probably be attributed to the attention of the latter that the creature did not start to sputter and attempt to blend in with the environment himself, as the attention he currently received was not quite of the same kind as he had received from Finrod before. Whereas Finrod wanted to hear what he had to say, these looked more like they wanted to see what his vocal chords looked like and whether they were in fact of inferior quality. 

The afternoon more or less proceded in the same fashion. At long last someone someone realised the Secondborn were probably more prone to hunger, and handed the old man the afternoon's fare - a delicious bean dish, consisting of many different coloured beans of all species available for trade in the area. Even with about ten pairs of eyes registering his every move, the Atan still seemed to be able to enjoy his meal. Finrod was most relieved to see this, as he still had quite a lot of questions and his interviewees had the tendency to die before they ever really got to answering all of them. After a while, the gawking had even subsided a bit, as they all sat around the fire and someone started to sing a ballad about the superiority of Noldorin craftworks in all things. One thing led to another, and the chroniclers, surgeons and their subject of study found they had at least one thing in common: jokes about dwarves. The Atan visibly started to relax, even if there still were some slightly startling gazes in his general direction on occasion. But all in all, Finrod's evening entertainment seemed to have turned out for the better. He was just about to say so to one of the many nobles who crowded the place when the evening took a distinct turn for the worse. 

The noise, was, I am ashamed to say, entirely lost to keen elven ears. This could partly be attributed to the bawdy songs about dwarven habits and the volume at which many of the Quendi present were at this point singing. Or maybe it was the crackling of the fire that disguised it. Or perhaps this old man was just particularly stealthy in ways the Eldar had not yet imagined.   
  
But fact was no one heard it. 

They _did_ , however, smell it. 

_"...and that's why dwaaarves don't-"_ A suddenly silence descended upon the formerly rather rowdy room. One of the lords stood up slowly, one hand on the hilt of his long sword. The ladies drew together and blinked fearfully. Well, some of them. Several actually grabbed the nearest sharply pointed tableware and held it in a most warlike manner. Anyway.

"By Varda!" one particularly lordly lord shouted, nay, declared. "Show yourself, you foul servant of Moringotto!"

There was a silence. Several people eyed each other fearfully. A tear glid down a maiden's cheek. Or perhaps it was one of the young men present. Fact was though, they were all quite nervous about the whole thing. That is, everyone except the Atan present, who was mostly confused, if not a little nervous about such tall people being nervous about anything.

"We know you are here! Do not disguise yourself!" the lord in question bellowed, "We were taught by the Valar themselves and will not tolerate your foul presence in our stronghold!"  
  
There was, once again, a silence. A slightly more awkward than anxious one this time, though it was still definitely rather anxious. You can only wave a sword through the air without result so many times before starting to look silly, however. No one at this point was very keen to face this fact because looking silly is not a nice thing to admit in a crisis situation involving an invisible evil Maia. And so there was silence. Until...

"Brrrttt." said the Atan. 

Fourty-five almost perfectly shaped heads snapped in his direction. The Atan had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed. Finrod coughed. 

"Ah yes" he said. "they do that".

  
  
And so the Noldorin court was introduced to the strange human habit of farting. Some of the more conservative Quendi are to this day convinced that their occasional involuntary emitting of foul smells is in some way related to their being tainted by Morgoth. 

Others abide by the opinion that the secondborn are just disgusting in general.

The latter opinion is, sadly, by far more prevalent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the fact that disembodied Maiar can be identified by smell alone. If they turned to evil, their smell too became foul.
> 
> I don't know if Elves fart. They probably do. However, it is much more fun to pretend that they don't. 


End file.
